Revenge is a Tiny, Wet Irishman
by Fuseaction
Summary: Shenanigans at the beach in Spain. Sebastian, Severin and Jim.


Every summer, just for a few weeks, Jim goes to Spain for a change of scenery.

And of course, Severin and Sebastian get dragged along. Most duties are set aside, except for the need to act as meat-shields for the boss if anything goes down, but for the most part they get to relax as well.

Jim always insists on visiting at least 2 beaches during their "vacation", electing to sit under a large umbrella while shooing the two blonds out into the sun. Whether this is from his issues with sharing, or because he enjoys watching his snipers get golden brown as the days go by, their hair shot through with sun-bleached streaks, has yet to be determined. Both are just as likely.

* * *

This particular day is like many others. The sun, the beach, Jim sheltering under his umbrella, though this time the twins have something in mind. Severin glances at Seb, a grin twisting his face as he nods, circling around Jim on one side, a short distance away, unnoticed as Jim reclines, dark sunglasses over his face. Sebastian circles on the other. The beach is fairly empty, the nearest group of people mere bright specks.

Neither sniper makes a sound, the damp sand holding the impressions of their silent feet as they approach the pale figure of their boss, relaxed and unsuspecting, fingers curled gently as he dozes. The twins share another devilish glance before pouncing on him, dragging him by his arms towards the water as he kicks and yells, his glasses slipping off his face.

"Moran! You! Both of you! Fucking let me g- OH, _FUCK_," Jim shouts as they crash into the water, the chill waves lurching them from side to side, the crimelord clinging blindly to Sebastian as they laugh, dragging him out into the deeper water.

"How's the water for you, boss?" Sev grins down at the shivering man, willingly receiving the weak punch aimed at his chest, chuckling again. Jim has his arms around Sebastian, limbs quaking with cold, hair hanging wetly in his face, which is utterly livid.

"TAKE ME BACK TO THE SHORE, YOU WITLESS IMPS, OR I WILL KILL YOU, AND IT WILL BE SO DRAWN OUT THAT YOU'LL BEG FOR DEATH." Jim's voice shakes, his pale body covered in goosebumps, chest heaving. The little man's nails are digging into Seb's neck as the sniper pulls Jim close, wading back towards the beach.

"C'mon, Jim," Sebastian says, grinning when Jim tells him to fuck off. "Water's not that bad. You'll get used to it in a bit." Seb stops walking once the water gets to the point where Jim can stand without being submerged, letting his arms drop to his sides even though Jim still refuses to let go, the water lapping around his shoulders.

The water shines in the light of a fading sun as Jim lets go, his arm still threaded through Sebastian's as an anchor, the tug of the waves still too strong for him to handle on his own. He glares as Severin swims over, using a strong breast-stroke.

They'll pay for this later, make no mistake. With their pay or their flats or their weapons…they'll pay.

"I want to go back to the shore," he says with quiet venom, though he's no longer shivering, jaw clenched, brows darker, more sharp now that they're wet. Severin shrugs, moving to tackle Sebastian, both of them disappearing under the water with a yell as Jim bobs on his own, eyes darting around. "Sebastian? Severin? Stop fucking around, and do what I pay you for."

He feels something brush his leg, body tensing immediately, causing his head to dip under water, resurfacing with a spluttering breath. The salt stings his eyes, his hands parsing the surface as he tries to tread water. He kicks wildly as a strong hand locks around his ankle, pulling him under, a cry quickly cut off as water fills his mouth.

Severin puts his arm around Jim's chest, pulling him back up, his heart jolting when he sees Jim's head lolling to the side, water dripping from his lips. Sebastian surfaces as well, running a hand down his face, grin faltering as he moves in close, Jim's face even more pale than usual. Fuck. Had they gone too far..?

"Jim?" Severin jostles Jim, getting no response. "We've fucking drowned him. Fuck, Seb." They look at each other, panicked expressions mirrored on each other.

"We need to get him to shore," Seb says, taking one of Jim's arms so that they can carry him between them, walking as quickly as they can in the water, legs burning as they fight the tide, reaching the wet sand at last, laying Jim out, tilting his head back. Severin moves in, putting his ear over Jim's mouth, checking for breath, instead hearing a hissed sentence.

"You two pull anything like this again, and I'll have both of you trapped in a tank of electric eels," Jim says, hand bunching painfully in Sev's hair, eyes open and glaring at Sebastian. Jim's eyes shine darkly in the growing dusk as he shoves Sev away from him, getting to his feet. "Get the sand off of my back."

Seb and Sev glance at each other with raised eyebrows and slight smiles as they move to dust the grit from Jim, patting perhaps a bit too pointedly at his arse. Jim walks to put on his shoes, walking back to the car with his towel. "Grab my sunglasses," he calls over his shoulder.

With relieved sighs, the twins pack up, finding Jim asleep in the backseat by the time they close the boot of the car and head back to their hotel. Sev carries Jim as they make their way to their room, stepping back for Sebastian to unlock the door. They enter, Sebastian dropping their beach gear near the door while Sev lays Jim in the middle of the largest bed, removing his shoes before pulling the blankets over him.

"Fuck," Sev says, dropping onto his own bed, to the left of Jim's, letting out a tired laugh as Sebastian does the same on the bed to the right of Jim's. This was the first time in a long time they'd had a death scare with Jim, even if it was a ruse.

" 'Nd what d'you think you two're doing," Jim mumbles sleepily where he lays, stretching slightly. "Get th'fuck over here and keep me warm, you arseholes."

The two snipers join him, laying on either side, falling into a mutual haze of exhaustion as they settle in.

They sleep.

* * *

While waiting for the two men to pack up, sitting in the car, damp and angry, Jim had sent a text ordering the destruction of both their flats.

Revenge is a tiny, wet Irishman.


End file.
